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Poem by Thomas Hardy
Zermatt: To the Matterhorn
Thirty-two years since, up against the sun, Seven shapes, thin atomies to lower sight, Labouringly leapt and gained thy gabled height, And four lives paid for what the seven had won. They were the first by whom the deed was done, And when I look at thee, my mind takes flight To that day’s tragic feat of manly might, As though, till then, of history thou hadst none. Yet ages ere men topped thee, late and soon Thou didst behold the planets lift and lower; Saw’st, maybe, Joshua’s pausing sun and moon, And the betokening sky when Cæsar’s power Approached its bloody end; yea, even that Noon When darkness filled the earth till the ninth hour.
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